


Words Upon Skin

by Therapeutic_Steter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 05:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12474728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: Soulmate words were treasured. People spent their whole lives waiting for their treasured phrase, that magic moment.Stiles had spent his whole life plagued by his words. He wondered just what he could do, to disappoint his soulmate so completely in their first meeting. He had approximately ninety nine self-confidence issues and they were all because of those damned words, printed in elegant script across his heart.‘Words cannot describe how pathetic you look.’





	Words Upon Skin

_‘Words cannot describe how pathetic you look.’_

Soulmate words were treasured. People spent their whole lives waiting for their treasured phrase, that magic moment.

Stiles had spent his whole life plagued by his words. He wondered just what he could do, to disappoint his soulmate so completely in their first meeting. He had approximately ninety nine self-confidence issues and they were all because of those damned words, printed in elegant script across his heart.

_‘Words cannot describe how pathetic you look.’_

What a pretentious way of putting it. Of putting how much Stiles disgusted them. Did Stiles say something first? Did he babble uncontrollably like he’d do sometimes when he was excited? Did they have a paragraph on their body somewhere? Did he fall, spill something, break something?

_‘Words cannot describe how pathetic you look.’_

What could he possibly do to be worth that? What was wrong with him, that he was destined to disappoint his soulmate so completely within moments of their first meeting?

When kids were young, one of the first things they learned how to read was their soulmate words. It was a moment of pride, to be able to know what phrase would signal your fated meeting. His teachers had flinched when they learned what his words were. His mom looked ready to cry whenever they were brought up. Scott had given him a sympathetic look.

Now Stiles got dressed without looking in the mirror. He refused to look down in the shower, to see the black ink spiraling across his chest. He hide under layers of clothes, smiled and dodged questions about his words. With every day, every interaction, he waited for the moment that would surely kill him. He waited in dread for some stranger to speak those words and end him just as surely as any blade or bullet. It was on his mind constantly, plaguing his every move. Was this the moment? When he tripped and fell, was that what ruined it before they’d begun? When he didn’t know the answer in class, was that the moment his soulmate decided he wasn’t worth their time?

_‘Words cannot describe how pathetic you look.’_

…

Stiles was having an absolutely horrible day.

He’d had an exam first thing this morning which he was pretty sure he failed even though he’d pulled an all-nighter and was now absolutely beyond exhausted. To make it all worse, the coffee shop he worked at had called him in last minute and he had scrambled to make it on time. He had downed three shots of expresso and was now bouncing around the workplace, waiting on the inevitable crash and wishing he could just go home and sleep.

He was absolutely miserable.

“Vanilla macchiato with extra whip!”

Stiles moved on autopilot at the shouted order, putting together the drink and moving to give it to the customer. It figures that he would trip, the lid flying off and the entire steamed drink spilling down his chest. Stiles felt his lip wobble, the drink scalding his flesh and matching his shit day perfectly. He couldn’t even react, just sitting on the ground and wishing he could disappear into the floor, cells numbed to the pain. His eyes watered and fought down the very strong urge he felt to just burst into tears.

“Words cannot describe how pathetic you look.”

Stiles startled at the words, the ones he’d been dreading all his life. He looked up through watery eyes, seeing an absolute model of a man leaning across the counter, no doubt the customer whose drink he’d just spilled down his front. Stiles felt himself shaking, tears leaking from his eyes, and the man frowned, looking concerned.

“I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment,” Stiles hiccupped out, losing control over his reaction and sobbing brokenly. He scrambled to his feet, rushing into the kitchen and ignoring the man’s shouts. Stiles threw his damp apron into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“I’m going home,” he told his manger and she didn’t even argue, giving him a sympathetic look and quietly wishing him a better day.

Stiles rushed out the backdoor, trying to hide his face as the tears refused to stop. He paused to lean back against the walls of the back alley, bawling uncontrollably.

So there is was. His moment. His soulmate. The one he’d disappointed so completely. He couldn’t believe it. It’d finally happened and he felt even more gutted than he’d always thought he would.

“There you are.”

Stiles shuddered, trying to turn away from the man making his way into the alley. Already he knew that voice, the way it sounded so dissatisfied. He wasn’t strong enough on a normal day, but especially not today. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t do this now.

“Please, just leave me alone,” he begged, curling in on himself.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the man murmured, crouching down next to his crumped form. He was clearly at a loss, out of his element. He looked put together, dressed in pressed slacks and a nice shirt, and Stiles felt even more unworthy of someone who was so clearly doing well in their life.

“You don’t have to stay,” Stiles managed out, trying to force a smile on his face, giving the man an out. He tried to wipe the tears away, promising himself he could have a total meltdown once he got to the safety and privacy of his apartment. The man didn’t look convinced.

“I am…well, ashamed and all kinds of horrible doesn’t cover it, I’m afraid,” the man spoke, eyes kind as he hesitantly offered a handkerchief which Stiles took tentatively. “Can I walk you home?”

Stiles sniffled, slumping a little under those blue eyes. “You don’t have to,” he repeated, years and years of self-doubt bearing down on him.

“I would be honored to, if you would allow it,” the man murmured gently. “I’m afraid circumstance has led to us having…a less than grand beginning. I understand if you would rather I leave though.”

Stiles stood, the man following suite. He still felt shaky, unsure of his own footing, and trying to work through the roller coaster of emotions he’d suffered through today just seemed overwhelmingly impossible.

“I’m Peter,” the man offered, trying to offer a smile though his eyes still held heartbreak as he took in the red-rimmed eyes of his soulmate.

“Stiles,” he returned, closing his eyes and wiping at his face. He breathed slowly for a moment, trying to calm down his nerves.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter murmured as he watched the young man trying to compose himself. He’d always wondered what he’d do, what he’d say, to cause his soulmate’s first words to him to be so hurt. He’d always sort of hoped that his soulmate would say those words out of anger, just because he had an easier time dealing with the idea of offending his soulmate rather than hurting. But this was torture, knowing Stiles had lived his whole life with such words marring his skin and it was all Peter’s fault. He was a man with a thousand plans and he had no idea how to make this better.

Stiles took one more breath, nodding to himself, before opening his eyes. There was a new resolution there, a steeliness, and Peter hoped this wasn’t their end before they’d even begun.

“I guess it can’t hurt, if you want to walk with me,” Stiles offered, pushing away from the wall determinedly.

“Thank you,” Peter nodded, falling into step beside the younger man. He was unable to keep from glancing over at him every few seconds, even though Stiles was stubbornly staring straight forward.

Conversation was stilted, unnatural and forced. Peter felt dread in the pit in his stomach. He’d spent all his life wishing for his soulmate even as he’d dreaded what their first words to him might mean. He’d tried to come up with any sort of way to fix whatever it was he’d done, but he just didn’t know how to fix this. How did he fight off the impression his first words had cut into his soulmates’ skin? Peter felt like he was grasping at water, desperate even as it trickled through his fingers, and as Stiles stopped in front of an apartment building, turning to face him while doggedly looking at everything but his face, Peter felt failure weighing down on him.

“Stiles,” he breathed out, hesitant. Did he even have the right to use the other man’s name? He reached out over his better judgment, slowly taking Stiles’ hand in case the man wanted to pull away and holding it gently between both of his. He looked down at the pale hand, fingers softly brushing the smooth skin there and wondering if his family had always been right. They’d always said he broke everything he touched, couldn’t resist.

“I know this isn’t the romantic soulmate meet that people tell stories about and hope for, and I can’t begin to think of how deeply my words have hurt you,” he began, voice unsteady. What he said now may be the last thing he ever got to say to his soulmate, may be his last chance. Was there anything he could say to get Stiles to give him a chance? “I would wait eternity for a chance to make it up to you. I won’t rush you and if you want me to leave, I will. I just…” Peter glanced up, meeting Stiles’ gaze steadily even as the other’s eyes started to well with new tears. “I want you to know, you are not a disappointment. Even with just this few moments, I can see your brilliance. I hate that my words have muted that, made you hide away what’s clearly a part of you. You are captivating, stunning, and absolutely perfect. I would not change a thing about you, not for the world.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of the man’s hand, feeling his own eyes water a bit. He’d ruined any chance he’d had at being with his soulmate before he’d even met the man.

Stiles clutched at the man’s hand, shaking. “You…you mean that?” he asked, tears rolling down his cheeks unhindered.

“Absolutely,” Peter answered without hesitation.

Stiles sniffled, nodding and wiping at his face with his free arm. He didn’t pull his hand from Peter’s grip and the man didn’t volunteer to let him go, too scared this may be the last chance he had to touch him, breathe him in, see him.

Stiles’ smile was wobbly, shy, but genuine. “Well something in the universe thought we’d fit. Maybe…we can go slow.”

Peter felt his heart skip a beat. “Of course, anything you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Stiles laughed, the sound watery but perfect. Peter wanted to pull him close, hold him tightly, protect him from anything and everything, including his own damned mouth.

“We’ll start with dinner then, tomorrow night,” Stiles decided. He brushed his fingers across Peter’s jaw delicately. “See where this goes.”

Peter was determined not to make Stiles regret giving him a chance.

…

Six years later, and Peter still paused as he shed Stiles’ shirt from his body, pressing a reverent kiss to his callous first words.

“Words cannot describe how much I love you,” he murmured against his skin.

Stiles combed his fingers through his hair, humming in contentment.

“Nor can they describe how utterly enchanting you are,” he breathed, slowly kissing down Stiles’ mole-speckled chest. “Beautiful. Charming.”

His hands fit perfectly around Stiles’ hips as he mouthed the muscles of his abdomen. Stiles looked down at him, whiskey eyes bright with love and adoration. Peter couldn’t help but smile, absolutely smitten.

“Flawless,” he spoke on an exhale, words carrying up Stiles’ bare skin. The other man blushed so stunningly under his gaze.

“Peter,” Stiles called, tightening his hold on his hair and gently pulling him up his body. Peter followed the other’s direction, mouthing up his body until their lips met wetly, tongues dancing to a well-known tune.

“I love you,” Stiles breathed as they separated, fingers tracing those very words that Peter had had inked into his skin, just under his collar bone, for their anniversary a year ago.

“And I love you,” Peter said, eyes glancing to the matching tattoo on Stiles’ wrist.

Perhaps they weren’t the first words they had spoken to each other, but they were the most important. And that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a prompt on [tumblr](https://therapeutic-steter.tumblr.com/)!


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